


Baby Can I Hold You

by Ishxallxgood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, So is Victor, So much angst, Social Anxiety, Viktor goes back to skating, Yurio is a Good Friend, Yuuko is almost done with Yuuri's shit, Yuuri actually ends it, Yuuri's hurting bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/pseuds/Ishxallxgood
Summary: Canon Divergent AU where Yuuri actually ends things after the GPF.  He retires and goes home.  Viktor understands, and keeps his word to return to skating.Inspired by the songBaby Can I Hold Youcovered by BoyzoneSorry, is all that you can't say. Years gone by and still... Words don't come easily, like sorry like sorryForgive me, is all that you can't say.  Years gone by and still, words don't come easily, like forgive me forgive meBut you can say baby, baby can I hold you tonight. Maybe if I told you the right words, at the right time you'd be mine





	1. Chapter 1

Yuuri blinked away the tears as he looked back toward Victor, his arms open, welcoming as per the norm.  His head was spinning and his body felt like it weighed a thousand tons. He was hesitant to skate off the ice, into Victor’s loving embrace, because he knew that if he did it would mean that it was all over.  That everything he had experienced the past eight months would come crashing to an end, and if he were to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that it was in fact not what he wanted at all.

Unfortunately he had to leave the ice, and as he skated into Victor’s waiting arms something inside him broke.  A little part of him wanted to hold onto Victor forever, to never let him go and just die drowning in his love, but the other part of him, the undesirable part of him, the overwhelming part of him, reminded him that by doing so, he would effectively be stealing Victor away from the ice forever. 

As they settled down in the kiss and cry the voices roared louder, even as Victor leaned in and whispered to him his decision to return to the ice.  Instead of the elation he thought he would have, the declaration felt like the final nail in the coffin of his own career. Victor was going to return to the ice, and as ecstatic as he was, those monsters inside him kept screaming at him, pushing him closer and closer toward an edge he did not even realize he was standing by.

The tears slipped from his eyes as he stepped off the ice following the awards ceremony, the silver hanging heavy against his chest.  He could not even look up from the floor to meet Victor’s eyes as he slipped on the skate guards.  This was it, the end, and he was painfully aware that he never gave Victor his answer, for he was also aware that Victor was still waiting, hoping that he would have changed his mind by now. Those demons though, they refused to loosen their grasp on his soul and they slowly tore him apart from the inside.

“Yuuri…”

Shaking his head he dismissed Victor’s voice, swallowing a sob as he felt the hand gripping his shoulder go lax.  Without having to articulate his decision Victor understood his answer through his body language, and he could almost feel the man behind him break apart into a million pieces.

“I understand.” Victor’s voice was cold and unnerving, devoid of the tenderness and warmth Yuuri had come to associate with it.  

It was his fault though, and he knew it.  He had broken Victor Nikiforov, and he wanted nothing more than to scream that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean any of it.  That he would never stop, never give up, never let go, but the words got caught in his throat and instead he bowed his head and walked away.

Yuuri did not know where he was going, or what he was doing. All he knew was that there was a storm raging inside his head, and no matter what he did it would not stop.  He could not shake the thought that he was making a horrible mistake, but every time he pulled out his phone to call Victor, the voices started again, reminding him that Victor Nikiforov belonged on the ice.  That he was unworthy. That after everything Victor poured into him, he was still incapable of producing a gold medal.

Yuuri aimlessly wandered the streets of Barcelona, that silver medal hanging heavy around his neck, tightening around him, reminding him of his failure.  He had failed to win, failed to capture the gold, failed himself, and failed Victor.

Reaching up he wiped the tears which fell heavy from his eyes, the nearby lamppost catching his ring and the glint of the metal drew his eye.  Yuuri could feel the sob tear through him as he lowered his hands again, fingers instinctively twisting the warm metal.   _Good luck charms_.  What a load of crap.  He knew what they really were, what they represented. Their true meaning confirmed by Victor during that dinner.  

What was he doing now?  Why was he running away?  Why was he here alone, when he should be there in the warmth of Victor’s embrace?

 _Because_.  That voice inside him said.

_Because you don’t deserve him.  How dare you try to keep him?  Victor Nikiforov.  You couldn’t even win him a gold._

“SHUT UP!” Yuuri screamed to the night air, earning him a few looks from random bystanders.  “What do you know?” He mumbled under his breath, “Victor loves me.”

_But will he keep loving you?  If you keep failing him?  It’s only a matter of time…_

The tears fell hot and fast from his eyes, streaming down his face no matter how many times he swiped at them.  His heart clenched within him and he felt as if the whole entire world was closing in on him.

Folding over on himself he fell against a nearby building, his head hanging low between his legs as the sobs tore through his body.

“Yuuri.”

The voice pulled him from his downward spiral, and he looked up from his position, pulling himself to a stand as he was met with open arms, but a stern face.  Those loving eyes soft with a glow in them, even though the brows was knitted together in a scowl.

“Mari-neechan.” He breathed, as he flung himself into her arms, the faint scent of jasmine and cigarettes soothing him.

“Yuuri.” She said again, her tone harsh, scolding.  “[What happened?]”

Burying his face into her shoulder he violently shook his head refusing to give her an answer.

“Yuuri.”  That tone again, and it cut him to his core because he understood all the things she didn’t have the heart to voice.   _I just witnessed Victor take off from the hotel, bags packed... what did you do?_

Yuuri didn't want to believe it. He refused to believe it, because if Victor really left, if Mari really came all this way to find him because Victor had actually taken off, then it would mean it was truly was over. 

Then again what should Yuuri have been expecting? He was the one who told Victor it was over. That after the Grand Prix Final they were no longer student and coach, no longer… what were they again, anyway? They had never defined their relationship, they just were, and now, now, they are just not. He felt his heart clench within him, and all he wanted int that moment was to be in Victor’s arms, not Mari’s, but Victor was gone now, because of him.

“[I don’t want to talk about it.]” He mumbled into her coat.  “[I can’t.]”

“[I know.]” She replied gently as she gingerly stroked his hair.  “[I just wish there was something more I could do for you.]”

“Mari-neechan!” He wailed against her, the tears coming back with a vengeance, the weight of her unspoken words tearing him apart inside. “[I feel like I'm suffocating to death!]”

She nodded silently, and he clutched at her tighter, suddenly unable to breathe.  Mari continued to stroke his hair as he hyperventilated against her, burying his face deeper against her, his whole being shaking violently against her.

When Yuuri finally calmed down and found his way back into the hotel room, his worst fears were confirmed.  Not that he did not believe Mari when she found him wandering the streets of Barcelona to tell him that Victor was gone, but seeing it for himself, the lack of all of Victor’s things, it tore a new hole inside his heart.  He really only had himself to blame, he was the one who pushed Victor away, urged Victor back onto the ice, forced him to leave.

Yuuri spent the next hour searching the room for any signs of Victor, anything at all, a note, a sock, a strand of hair, anything. Alas, all he was left with a deafening silence and nothing to show that Victor had actually been there with him, by his side, for the past eight months.  It was maddening, and he was sinking back into a black hole.

  
Throwing himself onto the bed he prayed that something of Victor still lingered, the smell of his shampoo on the pillows, perhaps the scent of his cologne laced within the sheets, but he was met with crisp hotel linen, freshly laundered, taunting him.

* * *

Victor wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but with each passing hour that sinking feeling in his heart began to consume him.  When midnight came and went he knew it was over, fighting back tears he threw everything he owned into his bag, his hands shaking as he attempted to write something, anything, but the words escaped him, what could he possibly say?  

_Thank you?_

_I love you?_

_WHY GODDAMN IT YUURI WHY ARE YOU SO UGH!”_

Dropping the pen he came to a stand, gathered his things and pulled open the door, taking one last look around the room, the cold, empty room.  He had hoped that Yuuri would come back, he had waited, waited hours for Yuuri to come back, but he did not.  Fighting back the tears Victor steeled his emotions, slipped the mask back on and made his way down into the lobby.

The flight from Paris to Seoul was the longest ten hours of his life, longer than the time he had to fly home alone from Moscow.  There was a bitterness that stewed in his mouth as he twisted the ring around his finger.  He had considered removing it, returning it to the man who stole his heart and then trampled it, but he could not bring himself to do so.  It was the last remaining thing he had to remind himself of what he could have had, of the life he so desperately wanted.

When the train finally pulled into the station Victor was numb, inside and out.  Dragging his bag behind him he slowly made his way through the streets of Hasetsu, the ghost of Yuuri’s warmth suffocating him with every step.  

This place, this wonderfully blissful place was everything he had ever wanted.  It was filled with a warmth and love that could make even the coldest winter nights feel like summer.  It was stolen kisses and gentle touches.  It was heartfelt conversations on the beach and the pouring out of his soul on the ice.  It was the flutter of spring cherry blossoms in full bloom and the sweltering heat of summer festivals.  It was warm soaks in the onsen on biting winter days like this one.  It was life and love, but most importantly, it was Yuuri Katsuki.

Pushing open the door to Yu-Topia, he dusted the snow off his shoes before removing them, the warmth of the inn seeping into his bones.  From somewhere deep within the inn he heard Makkachin’s cheerful bark, and the echoing of feet against tatami mats coming to a halt before him.

“Vicchan! What are you doing home?”

He looked up to meet confused brown eyes, and before he could stop himself he pulled the small woman into his arms, burying his face into the crook of her neck as he whimpered, “Tadaima, kaasan.”

“Okaeri, Vicchan.” She replied gently, returning his hug and he began to tremble against her.  “Oh Vicchan…”

“Osewa ni narimashita,” He managed to choke out between sobs, and felt her arms tighten around him.

Letting out a deep sigh she gently stroked his hair, understanding the meaning behind his words. “I’m so sorry Vicchan… that foolish foolish boy.”

Victor was not sure how long they stayed like that, him sobbing into Hiroko’s shoulder, her gently stroking his hair.  Her warmth and tender touch was what he needed in that moment, and it slowly soothed that ache in his soul.

After what felt like forever, Hiroko finally released him, when the sound of Makkachin barrelling through the inn filtered into the foyer.  She pulled away from him just in time to avoid being knocked over as the ball of muscle and fur collided with his human.

Letting out a laugh, Victor dusted Makkachin’s face with light kisses, falling onto the floor as he enveloped the dog in his arms.  “Oh Makkachin, I’m sorry.” He said as the dog pulled out of his arms, excitedly bouncing around him, searching all around for a scent that was not there, his tail wagging wildly.  “Yuuri’s not here.”

As if he understood the gravity of those words, the poodle descended upon Victor again, lapping away at his face before Victor managed to pull himself up to a stand.  Makkachin followed him as he made his way upstairs, not even bothering to drag his suitcase from Barcelona along with him.  The moment they entered the unused banquet hall turned Victor’s room, Makkachin settled himself down onto the bed as Victor moved into the adjacent storage room and pulled out a series of boxes.

Mindlessly Victor began to fill the boxes with his things. Books and clothes were haphazardly thrown into boxes as he fought back the tears.  He wanted so badly to just curse Yuuri’s name, to feel nothing but contempt for the man who captured his heart and then tossed it aside.  It would have been so much easier to hate Yuuri, anger was a much easier pill to swallow than this devastating heartache.  The reality of the situation was that Victor could never hate Yuuri, not when he understood where this was all coming from.  

This rejection was the result of much deeper issues, that Victor still had no idea how the shake the man of.  If he thought that staying, forcing himself to be here against Yuuri’s wishes would draw the man out he would have done so in a heartbeat, but he knew his Yuuri.  He knew that would never work, that if he did that Yuuri would have just closed himself up even more.  No returning to Saint Petersburg and returning to the ice was the only chance he had at winning Yuuri back.  Knowing, that, how could he possibly harbor any animosity toward his Yuuri?

How could he possibly hate Katsuki Yuuri, who showed him what it was to love and live.  Who transformed all that loneliness into something so wondrous.  If Victor could go back in time, he would not hesitate to repeat everything he did this past year, even if he knew it would end the same way, with he very soul being ripped from his body. It was worth it.  Worth every second, because without it, without his Yuuri, he never would have known what it was to experience true happiness.

No, he could never hate his Yuuri.  His beautiful Yuuri, who had the power to bring music to life with his body.  His magnificent Yuuri, who could steal the hearts of all who laid eyes on him, both on and off the ice.  His wonderful Yuuri, who taught him how to be himself, who pulled off all his masks and allowed him to be free.  His perfect Yuuri, who showed him that there was so much more to life than winning.

What was he supposed to do now without his Yuuri?  His Yuuri whom he loved so much it hurt.  His Yuuri who was the other half of his soul.  His Yuuri who was the very beat of his heart.  His Yuuri who was the very air that he breathed.  His Yuuri who was and is his muse, his lifeline, his _everything_. How was he supposed to exist without his Yuuri?

A gentle knock pulled him from his thoughts, and he dropped the arm full of clothes into the nearest box before turning to face those sorrowful brown eyes which broke his heart even further.  “I’m sorry kaasan…” He said softly, offering her a small smile, trying desperately to slip on his mask again.  “I don’t know what to do with all this furniture…”

“No need to apologize Vicchan, just leave it.  Just take what you need, we’ll take care of everything else.”  She replied, dismissing his apology.

“I’m sorry to be such a burden.” He pressed, moving some more of his things into an empty box.  “I just waltzed in here, unannounced and took up your spare banquet room for so long.”

Hiroko scoffed.  “Oh Vicchan, don’t be like that.  This is your room now.  We’ll keep it for you, for when you come home again.”

He stilled, eyes blown wide as he gaped at her. “When I come home again?” He whispered, the promise of those words igniting a spark within him only to have it fizzle out. “What if I never get to come home again?”

Hiroko took a step toward him, her hand coming up to gently cup his face, fingers swiping at tears he had not realized had fallen. “Nonsense, Vicchan.” She said firmly. “You'll come home again. Maybe not for a month, or two, or maybe not even for a year or longer, but you'll come home again. And we will be right here waiting for you. As long as it takes.”

He choked back a sob as he leaned into her hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “What if it takes a lifetime?”

“Oh Vicchan, then we wait a lifetime.” Her voice was soft, soothing, and it made the ache inside subside a little.  “I know our Yuuri can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes, but if there was ever one constant in his life, it is his love for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Osewa ni narimashita - Thank you for taking care of me (past tense)  
> By saying that Viktor was indirectly indicating to Hiroko that he is leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

“Tadaima!”

Yuuri sighed as he pushed past his sister, his body and soul weary from the events in Barcelona. All he wanted now was to crawl into bed and not come out for a year. That was not too much to ask right?  

He paused when his mother came out to greet them though, echoing the second half of Mari’s greeting with a cheerful “Okaeri” before giving Yuuri a sad smile and a pat on the head.  “[We are so proud of you Yuuri. Congratulations on winning silver.]”

“Arigato, kaasan.” Yuuri mumbled with a bow. “[If it's okay, I'm really tired and would just like to sleep.]”

“[Oh of course my dear. We understand, take as much time as you need.]”

Yuuri gave his mom a weak smile and dragged his bags up toward his room, catching the whispered murmurs of his mother asking Mari what transpired back in Barcelona.

As he rounded the corner, his heart clenched in his chest as his eyes fell upon the opened doors of the old banquet room turned Victor's room. It was obvious that Victor would have left. With Yuuri retiring and Victor returning back to the ice it would have been ridiculous for him to have stayed, but a part of Yuuri hoped he would still be there. Hoped that it was all just a bad dream, that he did not just foolishly end things with _Victor Nikiforov_.

The dark quiet room told him otherwise, it was devoid of the life Victor had given it and reminded him of the emptiness in his heart. Before he could stop himself, he found that he was standing in the middle of it, so utterly lost.  Looking around at the empty shelves and blank spaces, Yuuri felt something inside of him break.

Sure, the main pieces of furniture were still there, the bed, the four lamps, the two couches, bookcase and end tables, but it was lacking all things _Victor_ , even that ridiculous statue he has set up by the foot of the bed. Falling onto the bed Yuuri was grateful that his mom had not changed out the sheets, as he was suddenly enveloped in Victor's scent, and for a moment he allowed his mind to pretend that nothing had changed.

By the time Yuuri opened his eyes again, warm sunlight was filtering in through the heavy screens behind the bed. Sitting up he rubbed at his eyes, reaching over to stroke the hair out of Victor's eyes, his hand fell upon nothingness. He briefly wondered where Victor was, cold reality setting in around him when his eyes fell upon the barren shelves and his abandoned suitcase. Tears sprang back into his eyes as his hands closed around one of the many pillows, drawing it into his arms as he buried his face into it, overwhelmed by the scent of Victor's shampoo.

Victor was really gone.

This chapter of his life had come to an end. His figure skating career, over. His first real relationship, over. His love for Victor Nikiforov, he could not bring himself to finish that thought, the gold band around his finger catching the light again.

Bringing his hand up in front of his face he stared at the ring. _A good luck charm_ . He had half a mind to remove the ring and throw it across the room. What a load of crap. _Good luck charm_. What good did it bring? Then again he really should not have hung his hopes on a worthless piece of metal. His fingers moved to remove the band, stopping the moment they touched the warm metal.

He could not bring himself to do that.

Deep down he knew it was so much more than a _good luck charm_. Deep down he knew it was that red string that bound the two of them together, and he could not bring himself to actually server that bond. He could not remove this last remaining piece of Victor left in his life.

Pulling himself out of bed he wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and an apple before collapsing back onto the bed, once again welcomed by Victor's scent. He was not sure how much time had elapsed, how many times he pulled himself away to grab something to eat before collapsing back into that bed, but eventually the ritual grew old, and Victor's scent had begun to fade.

The following day Yuuri found himself at the steps of Ice Castle. How he even got there he was not sure, but there he was, standing before the place he loved the most, skates in hand.

“Yuuri!”

Looking up, he found Yuuko standing at the top of the stairs, waving wildly at him. Sucking in a breath he began to slowly ascend those steps, knowing that if he turned away now, she would  chase him down, and he did not have the energy for that right now.

“[Yuuri, look, we got new banners!]” She exclaimed as he got close, gesturing toward the large banner hanging off the side of the building.  “[We're all so proud of you.]”

“Yu-chan,” he choked out, skates hitting the floor as his arms fell around her. “[I messed up Yu-chan, I messed up, and now… now… I didn't even win gold Yu-chan… I don't deserve any of this… I don’t deserve _him_.]”

“Oh Yuuri,” she shushed, pulling him close, her hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “[Of course you deserve this. What would make you think you aren't worthy? We love _you_ Yuuri. Not what medal you can win, we would love you and welcome you home with just as much gusto whether you placed first or last. I'm sure _he_ felt the same way.]”

“Yu-chan!” Yuuri wailed, tears falling heavy and wet down his cheek, splattering against the white jumper she always wore.  “[It hurts so much Yu-chan… I thought I could do it… I thought I could make it through…]”

“[It's still not too late to say you're sorry…]” She offered sadly, as she continued to gently stroke his hair.

“Nani?” Yuuri looked up, wiping the tears from his eyes.  “[No, no, no… I could never… I mean I could, but that wouldn’t change anything… there’s nothing to apologize for Yu-chan... ]”

“[What do you mean?]”

Yuuri let out a deep sigh, he pulled himself out of her embrace. “[Yu-chan… Victor’s going back to the ice… where he belongs… not by the side of some loser like me.]”

Yuuko frowned. “[Yuuri… you were about a tenth of a point away from Yurio… I’m sure Victor sees you as anything but a loser.]”

“[I know.]”

“[Then why Yuuri?  I don’t understand, _Victor_ doesn’t understand. How can you just make such a selfish decision like this?]”

“Yu-chan…” Yuuri said, his voice breaking.  “[I… I wanted things to end on a happy note.]”

“[HAPPY!?]” Yuuko shrieked incredulously, her arms flailing everywhere.  “[I’m failing to see how either one of you are _happy_.]”

Yuuri let out a dry laugh, “[Yes, I can see why you would say it like that… what I mean is, I wanted to end things when we both still loved each other…]”

“[Yuuri, I love you, but you’re not making any sense.]”

“[I know.]”  Dropping his head Yuuri let out another heavy sigh, “[Yu-chan… Victor loves me _now._  I’ll always love Victor, I don’t think there will ever exist a time in my life where I won’t love Victor…]”

“[Yes, I understand that Yuuri, but why end things like this?]”

“[Because Yu-chan… because all my life I’ve been chasing Victor, hanging all my hopes and dreams on him… what will I do with myself if he comes to hate me?]”

Yuuko clicked her tongue and shook her head.  “[Oh Yuuri, I don’t think it’s possible for Victor to ever come to hate you.]”

“[How do _you_ know?]” Yuuri felt the sting of his tears again, ignoring them he pressed on.  “[Yu-chan, Victor loves me _now_ , but will he still love me in a year?  In two?  When I keep disappointing him over and over again with my failures?  With my problems?  With _me_ ?  I had to leave _now_ , when I still had the chance to walk away whole.  Don’t you understand Yu-chan!?]” A horrible sob tore through him, and he fought the urge to sink down onto his knees.  “[One of these days he’s going to grow to hate me… resent me for tainting his perfection with all this... negativity… with the hot mess that I am.  Why not walk away when all we have are fond memories?  Untainted?]”

Biting her lower lip, Yuuko helplessly wrung her hands, and Yuuri could tell that she wanted to counter with something, anything.  To scream at him until he realized how foolish he was being, but he knew that she knew there were no words she could possibly offer to ease his mind.  “[Yuuri…” she finally said, “[I… I don't think Victor would ever be disappointed in you, but you're right. I'm not Victor, and I cannot speak for  him. All I can do is pray that one day you'll see this, that one day you'll realize that that man would go to hell and back for you.]”

* * *

“{Vitya what are you doing here!?}”

The booming voice echoed throughout the rink, disturbing the quiet serenity of the ice. Victor looked up from his skates, perfectly sculpted mask in place as he smiled back at his coach. “{Skating of course! What else would I be doing here?}”

“{I mean in Saint Petersburg.}” Yakov continued, his volume lowering as Victor skated over to the boards. “{Shouldn't you be back in Japan helping Katsuki prepare for Nationals?}”

Wiping the sweat from his brow Victor took a long drought of water, trying to prevent the mask from slipping. “{Russian Nationals is in less than two weeks Yakov, _I_ need to practice.}”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yakov let out an exasperated sigh. “{Vitya, there is no way you'll be ready in time. Just wait until Europeans.}”

“{Yakov, you slay me with your words.}” Victor replied dramatically, placing a hand onto his chest. “{What do you think I've been doing for the past eight months? I practically had a rink to myself twenty four hours a day.}”

“Vitya,” Yakov repeated, tone softening, “{What happened in Barcelona?}”

“{Nothing happened in Barcelona.  Yura won gold. Katsuki took silver. My records were broken.  I’m here to take them back.}” He replied, smile still in place.

Yakov eyed him carefully, clearly uncomfortable with the way he had said _Katsuki_ as opposed to _my Yuuri_.  Victor should have known he could never fool Yakov.  The man who had been by his side for the past two decades.  The man who had taught him how to perfect that the mask to begin with.  He didn’t care though, what did it matter that Yakov knew he was dying inside?  All he had left now was his skating, and skating he shall do.

“{Just don’t hurt yourself Vitya.}” Yakov finally said, defeated.  “{You’re not as young as you used to be.}”

Pushing off again, Victor ran through the routines again, before launching himself into a series of jumps.  Although absorbed in his skating, he did not miss the way Yuri Plisetsky glared at him when he entered the rink later that morning.  Nor did he miss the glances he received from Mila and Georgi, but he kept that mask firmly in place and just continued to skate.  Living his life in two and a half and four and a half intervals.

He skated all morning, to programs he had created which embodied what he felt during those eight months in Hasetsu.  He skated those two programs over and over again, losing himself to the music in his head and the dance which embodied it. He skated until he could convince himself that he was back there, in that moment, with his Yuuri, weaving a story together.  He skated until every muscle in his body burned and every breath was labored.  He skated until Georgi and Yuri finally came over and pulled him off the ice.

“{You are so stupid.}” The angry little teenager spat when Victor collapsed onto the bench, shoving a bottle of water into his face.

Graciously taking the bottle from the teen, Victor gave him a smile, ignoring his comment as he downed the whole bottle.  “{Thank you Yura.}”

“{Don’t give me that shit Victor.}” Yuri growled.  “{You were supposed to bring the pig back.  WHY DID YOU LET HIM RETIRE!?}”

Victor grimaced, those words striking a chord deep within him. He didn't _let_ Yuuri do anything.  Yuuri just did it, on his own, despite Victor's pleas. How dare this kid insinuate that he _let_ his Yuuri retire.

_Because you let your Yuuri retire._

Gently putting down the bottle he adjusted his mask before turning to face the boy next to him. “{What would you have me do Yura? Bind his hands and feet and force him? This ain’t the bedroom Yura, that would be kidnapping.  And I'm pretty sure it would have caused an international incident.}”

“Che,” the teen scoffed, “{of course not. But you just fucking left! Why didn't you fight for what you wanted.}”

“{Yura, when you get older, you'll come to realize that there are some battles not worth fighting.}” Victor said, his voice cracking slightly before he adjusted his expression.

“{Bullshit. Are you saying the pig isn't worth fighting for!?}” Yuri was trembling in anger, his knuckles white due to how tightly he was clenching his fists, the words spilling out through gritted teeth.

A flash of anger passed across Victor's eyes before he quickly reigned it in. How dare he, how dare this insolent little boy claim that Victor would not fight a million and one wars for his Yuuri. Victor would fight through hell and back if it would bring his Yuuri back to him. He would endure every trial the Gods threw at him to find his way back to his Yuuri, the Eros to his Psyche. “Yura,” Victor's voice was low, and full of warning, and the young skater actually flinched at the sound of it. “{This is my war, my own personal battle, please do not presume to know you know how to fight it better than me.}”

Yuri opened his mouth to counter that statement, but the words died on his tongue and he just closed his mouth again. Smiling, Victor patted him on the head, dropping the bottle back into his hands before standing up and making his way back onto the ice.

“Vitya!” Yakov’s voice rang out again. “{Get off the ice!}”

“{Sorry, I can't hear you!}” Victor called back, smirking as he threw himself into his programs again, the music consuming him as he steeled himself, putting on the armor necessary to pull his Yuuri back to his side.

“Vitya.” He heard Yakov growl when he finished running through the two programs again, stumbling the last jump.  “{You’re done on the ice for the day.  You can’t even land a triple toe properly.  Go sit down and relax, get something to eat, do something, anything else.  You’ve been at this for hours already. I told you not to hurt yourself.}”

Victor tried to tune out Yakov as he made another loop around the rink.  He knew Yakov was right, his body was screaming for him to stop, but during those two and a half minutes, those four and a half minutes, it was the only time he felt like he was not dying. Like Yuuri was still there, right by his side. He had to keep going, had to keep skating, had to keep dancing, for his Yuuri, always for his Yuuri.  It was all he had left.  What else could he possibly do? He _was_ Victor Nikiforov after all.

He vaguely remember launching himself into those two programs again, skating one after the other, not even pausing for a breath.  Unfortunately that was the last thing he remembered, because when he opened his eyes again he was laid out on the bench, his skates resting haphazardly on the floor.  Wincing he sat up, every muscle in his body screamed, rebelling against him as he fell back against the bleachers.  

_What happened?_

“{Oh good, you’re not fucking dead.  Drink this.}”

Opening his eyes again he slowly registered the bottle being held out to him, taking it he nodded at the boy before him, wondering why he cared so much.  Emptying the bottle he tried to sit up again, ignoring the pain until his body felt numb.  “{What happened?}”

Yuri scoffed, “{You’re a fucking idiot is what happened.  You fell Victor, and then passed out.}”  His expression softened a little as he took a seat next to Victor, fishing out a crumpled paper bag from his things he tossed it to him.

Looking down at the bag on his lap Victor opened it with trembling hands, knowing what he would find before he even reached inside it.  “{Thank you Yura.}” He said as he pulled out a pirosky.

“{How are you supposed to fight for the Pig’s heart if you can’t even stand on your own two feet, idiot.}”

“{I’ll do better… I’m sorry I worried everyone.}”  Victor’s voice was small and weak, and he could feel that mask crumbling beneath his fingers.  “{The only time I don’t miss him is when I’m on the ice…}”

  
“{I know.}” Yuri’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued, and Victor could tell that although he will never voice it, the teen had a soft spot for his Yuuri too.  “{Just take care of yourself okay?  Only you can bring Yuu-Katsudon back to the ice.}”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder (not that you need it)
> 
> [text in brackets are in Japanese]
> 
> {text in these brackets are in Russian}


	3. Chapter 3

The ice scraped underneath his feet, the feeling familiar, soothing. It had been almost two weeks since he last stepped on the ice. The last time he was here he did not make it far past the steps of the ice palace. His conversation with Yuuko still rang in his head, the demons repeating his fears to him, over and over again like a mantra.

_You'll always be a disappointment. He'll grow to hate you. Resent you. Then what will you have left? Just let him have his moment. Victor Nikiforov belonged on the ice._

The ice.

Yuuri pushed himself forward, gliding until he came to a stop in the center, waiting. Waiting for the trill of the piano to start. For his song to start. His song, his story, the dance Victor had created so beautifully for him.

Of course there was no music, only the music in his head, and the moment those first notes began to play he felt his arms pull upward, spreading out around him as he took the first steps.  His body moved on its own accord, pulling him into the familiar dance, and for a moment, four and a half minutes exactly, he felt whole again.

When it was all over, Yuuri threw himself into the routine again, skating it flawlessly as the past eight months replayed in his mind.  Every touch, every smile, every kiss, and more, danced along in his mind, as he enveloped himself in everything Victor.

“[I don’t know why you decided against Nationals.]”  Yuuko’s voice broke him from his reverie and he snapped his attention over toward the boards where she was standing.  “[You could easily win gold.]”

“[Probably.]” Yuuri admitted as he skated over to where she was standing.  “[But I don’t want to.  This program is a love song by Victor, to Victor, and I don’t want to skate them for anyone but Victor.]”

“[Oh Yuuri,]” Yuuko said gently, “[Skating them at Nationals would still be for Victor, would it not?  Your love transcends these borders, don't you know… It stretches out, so far beyond this ice…]”

Yuuri smiled wryly back at Yuuko, shaking his head slightly as he took a long drink of water. “[You're wrong Yuuko.]”

“[What do you mean?]”

“[I would never have been able to skate this at Nationals...]” Putting down the water bottle Yuuri pushed off from the boards again. “[I don't think you understand Yu-chan. I skate this program for Victor, and Victor alone… and if you're right and our love does transcend these borders, then I hope that Victor can feel it… that he’d somehow know that I'm skating this for him right now.]”

Yuuri pushed himself to skate that routine a few more times, his heart aching for Victor, praying that Yuuko was right.  That their bond was so strong, the thousands of miles which separated them meant nothing. That even so far away, even after all those awful things he said and did, Victor would still know that there was nothing, no one, he loved more in this world than him, Victor Nikiforov. That this, skating the beautiful program that they created together, was the only present he could offer him on this day.

Eventually Yuuri had to step off the ice.  It would not be fair for him to keep Yuuko there all night, she had a family to tend to, three wonderful girls to love on, and it was already pushing midnight. Besides, Victor's free skate would be starting soon, and he would not miss it for the world.

Victor Nikiforov's return to the ice.

Yuuri settled on his bed, for the first time since he returned home. The past two weeks he had confined himself to Victor's room, but his scent was gone now, and it was becoming unbearable, the constant reminder that Victor was really gone. Reaching for his pillow to rest his laptop on, his hand came up empty and he stared curiously at the barren spot on his bed.

Shaking the thoughts on what possibly could have happened to his pillow, he let out a sigh and slipped off the bed. Wandering back into the room which once belonged to Victor, he stripped the bed of its pillows and lugged them all back to his own room. Depositing his bounty onto his own bed he artfully arranged them before grabbing his laptop and making himself comfortable as he connected onto the live stream for Russian Nationals.

The second group was just finishing when he connected in, his heart pounding in his chest as the last skater of the group received his scores. There was a brief break as they resurfaced the ice, and the final group took to the ice and started their warm ups. The camera panned out and the feed switched to two commentators behind a desk speaking in rapid Russian as the final group warmed up.

Yuuri wished his Russian was better, but then again, he was self taught after all. Ten years of watching every broadcast, interview, and special they did on Victor Nikiforov had blessed him with an understanding of the language so that he was at least able to somewhat keep up. It was not perfect, but for the most part he knew what they were saying, a general overview of the competition so far, current standings, and then Victor Nikiforov's name. His body snapped to attention and he drew closer to the screen, as if his proximity to the voices would suddenly make his Russian better.

His breath caught in his throat as the camera panned back toward the ice, and Victor's face came into view. He was so beautiful, so incredibly perfect, and such a painful reminder of everything he had given up. He was not actually surprised though, that even now, after everything, after experiencing the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands, the depth of his love, seeing him on a screen like this, could still rendered Yuuri breathless. For a moment he allowed his eyes to soak in the masterpiece that was Victor's face. The slope of his nose, the curves of his cheek bones, the angles of his jaw, and those eyes, those brilliant blue eyes which bore into his soul. Those eyes that held the universe in them, shining and sparkling with life and love and everything in-between.

For a moment in time, Yuuri allowed himself to believe that nothing had changed, that after this week Victor would come home, or that he could go to him. That he had not actually ended thing with that magnificent man, that their separation now was simply due to their respective Nationals.  The spell was broken the moment he heard his name escape the interview’s mouth.  It did not matter that he did not quite catch the question, there was only one reason why any interviewer would mention his name.

Yuuri tried to focus as Victor answered the question, he tried to focus on Victor’s words, but the moment Victor referred to him as _Katsuki_ his heart stopped.  All at once all those dreaded voices inside his head started screaming at him, drowning out whatever answer Victor was giving.  All he heard was the cold, impersonal way Victor had referred to him. Everything else that followed was just white noise, white noise disguised in the most soothing, seductive, velvety voice.

Tears stung his eyes as he focused once more on Victor’s beautiful face, on those brilliant eyes and that smile, that pure, brilliant unadulterated smile that he thought he would never be able to see again. Then it hit him, like a five ton weight on his chest.

Victor was happy.

Victor was answering a question about _him_ , referring to him indifferently as _Katsuki_ , talking about how things ended, how it had always been established from the beginning that the coaching relationship would only last until the Grand Prix Finals.  Victor was saying things like how they had decided to focus on their own careers, about how thrilled he was to be skating competitively again, about how excited he was to unveil his new programs, and he was happy.

Genuinely happy.

Not the perfectly sculpted happy mask he always wore during interviews, but the happy that Yuuri had always thought he was the only one privy to see.  The happy that shone in his eyes through his soul, the happy that got him all excited and caused that wonderful heart shaped smile to appear.  

Victor was happy.

There was a joy radiating off of him as he spoke about his programs, of his theme, of life and love.  Yuuri knew he should have been happy for Victor, that _this_ was what he wanted.  Victor, back on the ice, happy.

Yuuri was not happy.

Yuuri felt was if he had been hit by a mack truck.  Yuuri felt as if someone had reached into his soul and tore out his heart.  Yuuri felt as if everything he once treasured was a lie.  That that smile, the one that brought him more joy than anything in the world, the one he once believed was reserved specifically for him, was the greatest lie of all.  Yuuri felt betrayed.

He felt the tears fall heavy from his eyes, splattering onto the keyboard of his laptop.  He did not even try to clear them away, he did not even try to stop them from coming.  Everything the monsters inside his head said were true.

_Victor was happy._

_Victor did not need him._

_Victor belonged on the ice._

Yuuri choked back a sob as Victor’s laughter echoed out of his speakers, and he felt his chest tighten within him and his heart sink down to his stomach.  Wiping the tears from his eyes he tried to focus on the stream again, only to be hit with Victor laughing again.  His head tilted back, eyes sparkling, mouth shaped like a heart, laughing.

He wanted to throw his laptop across the room, bury himself into the blanket and pile of pillows on his bed, but Victor would be skating soon, and he would be damned if he missed Victor’s return to the ice.  So he powered through the interview, quietly sobbing to himself as Victor took his leave and made his way toward the rink.

The moment Victor skated out onto the ice, Yuuri’s breath hitched in his throat.  Nevermind the fact that Victor was the very vision of perfection, but as he stilled on center ice, Yuuri caught the glint of the ring on his finger as he brought his hand up to his lips.  Mimicking the motion, Yuuri pressed a kiss to his own ring, as he blinked away the tears, his heart swelling with overwhelming love.

Watching Victor skate opened up new wounds inside his soul, but it also soothed every hurt, every ache inside of him. This routine was Victor’s love song to Yuuri, it was a routine Yuuri was intimate with, a routine that he had helped mould, a routine that very much a part of him. Victor skated it with such grace and power as always, but underneath it all, Yuuri could feel it, the pull on his heart as Victor glided across the ice, every aspect of that routine was calling out to Yuuri, begging him to come home.

When the cameras focused on Victor's face after the music faded, Yuuri could feel his heart clench within him. The magic the last four and a half minutes dissipated and that crushing weight returned.  Joy radiated off Victor’s perfect features, and that smile, brighter than the sun itself, thrust Yuuri into a darkness that consumed him whole.

* * *

 

“{Shit! That stupid fucking Pig.}”

Victor looked up from his phone, an eyebrow raised in Yuri’s direction.  He did not need to ask, the scowl in Yuri’s face said it all.  

Yuuri did not compete in Nationals.  

A little part of him had held onto the hope that even though he _said_ he was going to retire, he would still skate at Nationals. Then again, what did he really expect?  Yuuri was stubborn, and once his mind was made, there was little anyone could do to change it, even Victor it seemed, although Victor had an inkling this had less to do with stubbornness and more to do with his demons.  Victor just wished he knew the answers, the solution to taming can those beasts inside, but evidently eight months was not enough time to unravel the mystery that was one, Yuuri Katsuki, and for the moment, his time had run out.

Putting in his ear buds he attempted to drown out the string of explicatives that flew out of the teenager’s mouth as he raged at his phone, as if his tantrum could change the results.  Victor tried to refocus his thoughts, he had been so good about pushing Yuuri out of his mind for the past few hours, so very good, but now thanks to Yuri, his Yuuri was all he could think about now.

Getting up from his spot he exited the room, making his way out onto the stands so he could watch the next group take the ice.  Not his preferred thing to do, but it was distracting, and hopefully distracting enough to get his mind off of Yuuri.

It was not distracting enough.

Definitely not distracting in the least bit, because every missed jump, every over-rotated jump, every under-rotated jump, every two footed jump, reminded him of his Yuuri. In the same vein, every beautifully executed camel spin, every breathtaking spread eagle, every graceful ina bauer, reminded him of his Yuuri. Every landed flip, every perfect triple axel, reminded him of his Yuuri.

He was going mad. He had roughly twenty minutes left to wait before he were to skate, and he was going mad.

Trying to distract himself again with the internet he logged onto YouTube and started watching every single puppy video he could find. Unfortunately for him, evidently puppies also reminded him of his Yuuri. He was so frustrated that he was seriously about to throw his phone across the room in a Plisetsky inspired tantrum, when a notification went off.

He stared curiously at the +81 number which flashed across the top of the screen, a simple _Happy Birthday_ , following it, and his heart skipped a beat. +81, that was Japan. Somebody from Japan was wishing him a happy birthday.

Somebody from Japan who was not Mari, Hiroko, or Minako was wishing him a happy birthday.  

His heart leapt in his chest in the hopes that it was perhaps his Yuuri, but if it was, his name should have flashed and not some unknown number.  Sucking in a breath Victor clicked on the notification, his breath catching as he read the message that followed the birthday greeting.

_I'll be damned if I didn't ensure you received Yuuri's birthday present. - Yuuko_

He stared blankly at his phone, wondering what it was she was talking about as he quickly saved her contact information. He was about to type out a response when the thumbnail for a video loaded and his heart began beating out of his chest, because there on the thumbnail, as clear as day, was his Yuuri. His Yuuri on the ice.

The breath he had not realized he was holding released as he watched Yuuri skate, and for a moment all was right with the world. Every drag of his foot, every rise of his arm, every jump and spin, it was all perfect, it was everything he had loved and more, and it was all for him.  He did not need words, an explanation, he felt it in his soul.  His Yuuri was on the ice again, skating for him, and only him, his soul calling out to him over the ice, over and over again.

He could have kissed Yuuko, and if she had been in front of him he probably would have, for she had given him the most wonderful present in all the world. In the absence of his Yuuri in his life, he could not have asked for more. After typing out a quick thank you to Yuuko, he watched that video on loop until his group was finally called onto the ice for warm-ups.  Victor could not help the smile which spread across his face, because his Yuuri, his beautiful, magnificent, Yuuri had skated for him for his birthday.  

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Yuri asked as he passed Victor on the ice, the scowl on his face deepening as Victor’s mouth opened into the shape of a heart, his eyes shining with the light of a thousand suns.

“Oh Yurio!~”

“That’s not my fucking name.”

Victor just beamed all that much brighter at him.  “You should be nicer to me, it’s my birthday.”

If looks could kill, Victor would have feared for his life, but there was absolutely nothing that could bring him down from this high he was currently experiencing.  Victor just continued to skate, ignoring the looks the angry teenager was giving him as he started humming the first few bars of _Yuri on Ice_ , his feet following the music, working out the choreography he had so lovingly created what felt like a million years ago.

Victor was on cloud nine as he stepped off the ice, pausing as the press found him, eager to bombard him with questions regarding his current state of mind, how it felt to be back on the ice, finishing first after his short program the day before.  Twenty minutes ago Victor’s answers would have been very different, Victor’s smile would have been very different, but in his current state of mind, he could not help the smile which broke out across his face as he excitedly talked about his return, how effortless it was, how much he loved the ice.

“{So, why take half the season off to coach Yuuri Katsuki?}”

“{I was seeking inspiration.}” He answered truthfully, eyes glistening as he remember that feeling all those months ago when Yuuri shone like a beacon of light in the midst of so much darkness.

“{And you found it in Katsuki? Why end your coach student relationship now then?}”

The question threw him off for a second, painful memories flooding his mind before he quickly shook them off.  “{Yes, I found my inspiration in Katsuki.   _Life and Love_ , I found it with him.  As for why we parted, it had always been established since the beginning that it would only be until the Grand Prix Finals.  In fact, during that time, he insisted that I return to the ice afterwards, so here I am. The rest of this season is dedicated to my _life and love_.}”

“{Are the rumors true, that he has retired from competitive skating?}”

“{That is a question you would have to ask him yourself.  I cannot speak for Katsuki, whether he chooses to return or not, that is ultimately his decision.  All I can do is focus on my own career, on my _life and love_.}”  Victor continued to ramble, talking at a hundred words per second, enthusiastically gushing about his program, his inspiration, his excitement to be back.  He simply could not hold anything back, not when the video of Yuuri skating that routine for him played on a loop in the forefront of his brain.

The moment he stepped onto the ice everything faded away.  All that heartbreak back in Barcelona, that Yuuri sized hole which had taken residence in his heart, all that agony he had been in the past two weeks.  It all faded away and all he was left with was his Yuuri, his Yuuri on the ice, his Yuuri back in Hasetsu, skating for him, his Yuuri who had given him his new outlook on life, who filled him to the brim with _life and love_.  Bringing his hand up to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the golden ring on his finger before closing his eyes and allowing the music and the ice to overcome him.

Victor was grinning from ear to ear when he finished skating, his heart pounding in his chest as he sat down next to Yakov, not even caring what his score was.  He had just proclaimed his love for Yuuri loud and clear on the ice, and he prayed desperately that Yuuri got the message, that Yuuri was watching.  He knew Yuuri was watching, there was no way his Yuuri was not watching.  His Yuuri who urged him to skate again, his Yuuri who threw everything away so that he could skate again.  He understood, he would be a fool not to.  It was no secret to anyone, himself included, that he had been Yuuri’s inspiration, and he prayed that this would be enough to draw his Yuuri back to his side.

By the time Victor crawled into bed that night, it was edging on midnight, and it had become blatantly clear to him that his performance was not good enough.  The high he was riding from seeing his Yuuri skate for him again was fading, because it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that it did not work.  For everyone he knew in Japan, had by this point, already wished him a happy birthday, everyone that is except his Yuuri.

Victor was desperate to hear those words from Yuuri, desperate to hear the sound his name wrapped around his Yuuri’s mouth.  His Yuuri’s beautiful mouth, that would part ever so slightly whenever he caught him off guard, that would then soften into that tender smile as the heat rose to his cheeks in embarrassment.  That sinful divine mouth, that would curve into a devious smirk right before his hands ran down his perfectly sculpted body at the start of _Eros_ and drive Victor up a wall with how badly he would want a taste.  That magically delicious mouth, that would whisper all the right words before they ghosted their way across his neck and up his jaw before crashing against his his own, drawing him into utter bliss.  Oh how desperately did he miss that wonderful mouth of Yuuri’s.

By the time he cleared his head of the images of Yuuri’s mouth, Victor found that his thumb was hovering over the call button on his Yuuri’s contact.  He really should not, he knows that he probably should not, but he was desperate.  He could feel himself slipping back into the darkness, being consumed by the abyss, and all he wanted was that soothing voice, his Yuuri’s voice, wrapping itself around his name.

Before he could register what was happening, he could hear someone speaking on the line, a woman with a very pleasant voice, but it sounded automated.  Confused he hit the red end button and hit Yuuri’s contact again.  There was a click and the automated message started again.  Victor tried to make out the words, it was in crisp Japanese, but she was speaking to quickly for him to properly make out what was being said, so he hung up and tried again, this time listening intently.  

Victor wanted to cry, because for the life of him he could not figure out the message.  It was just a jumbled mess of Japanese, but it was also becoming increasingly clear to him that Yuuri’s phone number was clearly not working.  Just to make sure he tried to send the man a text, but it bounced back and Victor collapsed onto the bed in despair, glaring at the gold medal glittering on the table across the room.

What was the point of coming back, of pouring his soul onto the ice, of reclaiming his place at top of the world, if Yuuri would not be there to stand beside him?   _Please Yuuri_.  He begged in his mind, two words that he had repeated over and over that night, words that fell on deaf ears, words that he would repeat for all eternity if it could bring his Yuuri back to him.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Yuuri's half of the chapter took a lot out of me. 
> 
> With that said, if any of you remember that teaser I posted WAAAAY back in the day when I started this, it's in this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy

Time slipped slowly by, the days passed quickly with the endless hustle and bustle of the inn in preparation for New Years.  Yuuri found that he was able to lose himself in the chaos of the day, giving his parents a hand at the inn, losing himself in endless loads of laundry and the scrubbing of the baths.  It was the nights that consumed him whole.  It was the nights that dragged on, the voices inside his head drowning him in their poison.  It was in those quiet moments that Yuuri felt was if someone had pushed his head underwater and told him to breathe.  Letting him up for air in two and a half and four and a half minute intervals, only to drown him all over again.

During that time that Victor was on the ice, Yuuri would forget everything, and exist for Victor alone.  In those two routines, he saw, with a clarity he had never known, the breadth of love Victor had for him.  It was in those moments that he felt truly loved.  So every night he found himself watching and rewatching Victor skate for him.  He found himself tucked away safe and secure in his bed, surrounded by the last remnants of Victor left in Yutopia.

Unfortunately the magic could only last in two and a half and four and half minute intervals, because the moment Victor’s routines came to an end and he turned to face the crowd the spell was broken.  Yuuri found himself gasping for air, tears streaming down his face, every time  _ that _ smile flashed across his screen.   _ That _ smile that he once cherished.   _ That _ smile which had once brought him so much joy only brought him immeasurable pain.   _ That _ smile drew new scars over old wounds every time he saw it, and it was  _ that _ smile that the demons clung onto and used to choke the life out of him.

Even so, Yuuri still found respite in those two and a half and four and a half minutes, and for those two short blocks of time, life was still golden and bright and worth every sacrifice he had made.  If he could just hold onto the Victor on the ice, then maybe, just maybe he could make it to tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and went, along with the New Year and all it brought with it.  Which for Yuuri, was nothing at all.  Nothing in his life had changed, except for the fact that the demons seemed to be stronger, more resilient, and he found himself at Ice Castle more often than not in a weak attempt to chase them away.

He found himself on the ice, skating Victor’s love declaration to him over and over again, coupled with his own two programs.  The two programs Victor handcrafted for him, but he kept being drawn back Victor’s programs, to the meaning behind them, to the love he felt coursing through him whenever he skated them.  Every once in awhile he found himself skating to Stammi Vicino, but he always found himself sobbing sprawled out on the ice afterwards so he tried to avoid it if he could.  

Yuuko caught him a couple of time, but she never said anything, and just allowed him to skate.  A few times, she joined him while he was skating Victor’s latest short program, nudging him with a smile declaring how reminiscent it all was.  And she was right, skating Victor’s program with Yuuko was indeed reminiscent, and it made his heart happy, even if only for two and a half minutes.

“[You should just call him you know.]” Yuuko said, three days before Europeans while they were taking off their skates.

“[And say what?]”

“[I’m sorry?]” She suggested with a shrug.  

“[But I’m not.]” Yuuri replied with a furrow of his brow.  “[Why do you keep insisting I talk to him?]”

“[Because Yuuri!]” She exclaimed in exasperation.  “[I mean, you can’t possibly think this isn’t impacting him just as much as it’s impacting you.  You know just as well as I do, that he had never smiled so genuinely as he did when he was around you.]”

Pulling off his skates, Yuuri turned to face her, wondering if she was actually being serious right now.  Because sure, she had a point, prior to showing up in Hasetsu, nobody could claim they had ever seen Victor Nikiforov with a smile that lit up his eyes, but she could not honestly say she did not see  _ that _ smile on his face during Nationals.

“[Yu-chan, please don’t start that again.]” 

“[But Yuuri,]” She whined, before a spark lit in her eyes.  “All you need is love.”

“No.” Yuuri said firmly, biting his tongue, because he knew what was going to happen next.

“All you need is love.” She insisted, with a small giggle.

“A girl has got to eat.” Slipped out before he could stop himself.  “[Shit.  I hate you Yuuko, you KNOW Moulin Rouge is my weakness.]”

“All you need is love.” She continued with a smile.

“Love is just a game.”  He sang with a sad smile, shaking his head gently.

“You were made for loving him baby, he was made for loving you…”

The smile faded from his face as he dropped his head into his hands.  “The only way of loving me baby… is to pay a lovely fee.” He choked out, fighting back the tears.

“Oh Yuuri,” Yuuko said pulling him into a hug.  “Just one night, just one night.”

“There’s no way… cause you can’t pay.” He sang out bitterly.

“In the name of love.  One night in the name of love.”

Sighing, Yuuri relaxed slightly into her embrace.  “You crazy fool.  I won’t give in to you.”

“Don’t,” She sang, wiping the tears from his eyes, “Leave him this way.  He can’t survive, without your sweet love.  Oh Yuuri, don’t leave him this way.”

“You think that people would have enough of silly love songs.” 

“I look around me and I see it isn’t so, oh no.”

A weak smile pulled at Yuuri’s lips as he straighten up a little, “Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs.”

“Well what’s wrong with that?  I’d like to know, cause here I go again...” She sang standing up, pulling him to his feet, “Love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly, on a mountain high.”

Sweeping her into his arms, Yuuri pulled her away from the bleachers and spun her around.  “Love makes us act like we are fools, throw our lives away, for one happy day.”

“We can be heros.” She sang breathlessly, “Just for one day.”

Shaking his head, he released her from his grip, the magic lost again as his demons settled in for the night.  “[I’m sorry Yu-chan.  I can’t.]”

“[I don’t understand Yuuri.   _ Please _ , help me understand.]” Yuuko begged, refusing to let him go.

“[I don’t know how Yu-chan!]” He all but screamed, wishing the voices in his head would just shut up for longer than five minutes so he could just think.  “[I know Yu-chan,  _ I KNOW _ .  I know how much Victor means to me, I  _ know _ how much I mean to Victor.  I  _ know _ that if I gave in, if I called him, went to him, he would make all this hurt go away, but I just  _ can’t _ .  I don’t know how?]”

Pulling away from her Yuuri collapsed onto one of the nearby bleachers, folding in on himself as he buried his head in his knees. “[I miss him so much it physically hurt Yu-chan. I don't know how to move on. I can't sleep, I can barely breathe. But I just feel like if I go back, if he takes me back, how do I know it will last?]”

“[You don't. It's a risk you have to take.]” Yuuko said, settling down next to him.

“[I already stole eight months of his life, I don't think I have it in me to steal any more.]” Yuuri mumbled into his knees.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Yuuko blew air into her bangs before poking Yuuri  in the side. “[I don't think he sees it that way, Yuuri.  Victor came on his own accord, he chased you halfway around the world, you didn't steal him away.]” 

Looking up he shook his head and frowned at Yuuko. “[I stole him from the ice, from the world…]”

“[Yuuri-kun…]” Yuuko said, her voice stern as if she was reprimanding her triplets.  “[You of all people should know, that the greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is to love and be loved in return.]”

In a way Yuuko was right.  Deep down Yuuri knew she was right, but the voices inside kept reminding him that he did not deserve Victor’s love.  That Victor belonged in a world outside of his existence, that he should be grateful for the time he did have, for the memories that were granted to him.

The harsh reality was that his demons were like shattered pieces of a goblin mirror lodged in his eye. They always had a way of making even the most beautiful of things hideous, and distorting everything so that all he saw were the worst of things.  It was through those shards of glass that he watched Victor skate at Europeans, and it was because of that wicked mirror that he failed to see the desperation in Victor’s soul at World's.

When Yuuri came to, he found himself on the ice. He did not remember coming here, putting on his skates or skating, but the judging by the heaving of his chest, he had just completed a program, a very physically taxing program, and he had an inkling what it was.  

Shaking himself from the stupor, he skated over to the boards and grabbed his water, frowning when he saw the triplets scurrying to put away their phones before he noticed.  He let out a sigh, knowing that in the next few days there would be a new video uploaded to most likely Yuuko’s account.  Whether the uploading would be done with or without her knowledge will be debatable, but either way, he knew that she would have wanted it there.  Considering how she had been pushing him to contact Victor, doing something like that would most definitely push Victor toward him, especially since it would be on the eve of the one year anniversary of the  _ other video. _

Yuuri let out a sigh when the notifications started coming in.  A little part of him wanted to turn off his phone and pretend it was not happening again, but the voices inside his head told him that if he did that, the cold northern wind would blow a Russian to his doorstep again.  Logging into his Twitter account, Yuuri sent off a tweet before powering down his phone and pulling the blanket over his head. 

* * *

 

What had been the best birthday in decades turned around and quickly became the worst. His Yuuri had changed his number, deactivated his WhatsApp and disabled his FaceTime, effectively cutting off all communication. Victor had been so desperate to get to his Yuuri, he had actually reached out to Phichit, but Phichit was not faring any better himself.  

Something was wrong, terribly wrong and Victor felt as if he had miscalculated somewhere along the way.  His return to skating was supposed to  _ inspire _ his Yuuri to come back to him, it was supposed to pull his Yuuri from the demons which plagued him, but instead it was pushing him further and further away.

Victor was drowning, the ice consuming him as he tried to forget everything except that feeling inside when he watched Yuuri skate for him.  It was what fueled him through the New Year, it was what drove him to continue, to show the world, to show his Yuuri, the strength of his love.

Three days before Europeans, he received a call from Yuuko.  He had not expected Yuuko to call, honestly he did not know what he was expecting, but a call from Yuuko certainly was not it.  She had begged him to not give up on Yuuri, and he did everything in his power to assure her that he would never.  His Yuuri was life, his Yuuri was love.  He could not possibly survive in this world without his Yuuri by his side.  He promised Yuuko that he would show Yuuri the skating he loved most.

Ultimately it was Yuuko who saved him from the brink of despair. Yuuko who had informed him that Yuuri was still skating, his programs,  _ all _ his programs. That knowledge in of itself is what propelled him through Europeans and all the way up to World's.

World's on the other hand was an entirely different beast. One that he had not quite been ready to tackle, but he was Victor Nikiforov and he would persevere.

The thing about World's was, it was his last chance to draw Yuuri back to his side. It was the last battle, one he simply could not lose.  

So Victor skated.  

He skated his heart and soul out.  He poured  _ everything _ he had into those two programs. And he prayed, and begged, and pleaded to any god who would listen that his other half would come home and complete him once again.

But the gods were cold and cruel, and laughed in his face as he reclaimed his records from his two Yuris.  Victor wanted to cry, scream, take that gold medal which hung heavy and empty against this chest and cast it onto the ice, but instead he lifted it up, that old mask slipping into place as he brought it to his lips. 

It was as if that kiss sealed his fate, and in the end he found himself broken and alone again.

“{Shit, what the fuck Victor!}”

Victor did not bother looking up when the door to his apartment swung opened and the curses of an angry sixteen year old filtered in. He didn't resist it when the bottle of Vodka was pulled from his hand and he was righted to a sitting position. 

“{Goddamn it Victor, pull yourself together. You fucking reek of bile and Vodka.}”

“Yura!” Victor suddenly exclaimed, his eyes glassing over as he held onto the shoulders of the teenager before him. “Yura…” he said again, his voice dropping and the tears stung at his eyes again. “{I failed Yura… I… I lost… I thought I would be able to bring him back… through my skating…}” He hiccupped and felt the tears fall heavy from his eyes. “{It was all I had Yura… skating.  I skated for him… did you know that? He asked me to skate again… and I did. It was the only thing I had left… I thought… I thought it would be enough.}”  A sob tore through him as he pulled the teen close, clinging onto the steady beating of his heart.  “{It wasn’t enough Yura… it wasn’t enough…}”

“Victor,” there was a patience in Yuri's voice, a softness that Victor did not know was possible. “{I… I have something to show you… but I don't know if I should.}”

Releasing the teen Victor slumped back against the couch, Makkachin letting out a whine as he buried his head underneath Victor's hand. “{Do whatever you want Yura… I don't even care anymore.}”

“{You should.}” Pulling out his phone, Yuri tapped away for a moment, before rotating it and pushing it into Victor's hand.

It took Victor a moment to register what it was he was watching, the vodka swimming around in his head making it hard for him to focus. He felt his eyes slipping closed when a sudden jab on his side jerked him awake again.  The video had ended, but Yuri reset it and the music hit Victor like a punch in the gut.

“Yura!” A light sparked in Victor's eyes as he scrambled up, pawing at where he thought he had left his phone, images of his Yuuri dancing before his eyes. “Yura!”

Yuri rolled his eyes and plucked his phone out of Victor’s hand. “{Your phone’s on the table, though I should be asking why you’re looking for it.}”

“{Because Yura, this… this… I… I didn’t lose… my Yuuri… oh my beautiful Yuuri.  My darling, my love.}”

Victor watched as Yuri sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing, a frown forming as he clearly debated what he wanted to say next.  Reluctantly, Yuri unlocked his phone again, pulling up his Twitter app and and aggressively scrolled until he found what it was he was looking for.  “{Sit down Victor.}” 

There was something strange about the expression on Yuri’s face, and Victor heeded his words, flopping back down onto the floor.  “{What is it Yura?  Why are you making that face?}”

“{Because I really don’t want to show you this, but if the alternative is you flying off to Japan to find the Pig again…}” Yuri let out a growl as he ran a hand through his hair. “{Fuck man...}” 

A flash of pity passed across the teenager’s face before he pressed the phone into Victor’s hand.  Glancing down at the screen he realized he was staring at a string of Japanese characters, followed by two lines of English.  _ I'm sorry for the confusion. The video was posted without my consent, it is by no means a declaration that I am returning to the ice. _

Victor felt his heart sink within him.  

He had failed.

He was being melodramatic earlier when he lamented to Yuri that he had failed. He had hoped, prayed to the bottom of the bottle of vodka that he was wrong, even though a part of him knew better but now, all hope was lost.  

He had failed.  

There was no doubt in his mind that his Yuuri had tweeted that tweet for him.  There was no other reason why his Yuuri would have found the need to post something like that.  He would have just holed away, hoping everything would blow over the way it did a year ago.  That Victor would come sweeping in again, but no, that was a direct message to him.  _ Don’t come Victor, it’s over _ .

A strangled sob escaped him as he folded over onto himself, Makkachin whining again as he nosed at Victor’s head.  Pulling an arm out from under himself, Victor pulled Makkachin close as he buried his face in his fur, mourning the loss of the greatest love of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Conversation indicated between [brackets] are spoken in Japanese.  
> Conversation indicated between {brackets} are spoken in Russian


End file.
